


Noticing the Unnoticed

by iceprinceofbelair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Canon Compliant, Child Abuse, Gen, Manipulative Dumbledore, Neglect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 09:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3204947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iceprinceofbelair/pseuds/iceprinceofbelair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An examination of how several people in Harry's life noticed but nobody really saw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Molly

Overbearing as she may be, nobody can deny that Molly Weasley loves her family fiercely. Despite what little she has to spend, her children never go hungry. They’re never cold, never disadvantaged. She loves her children with the deepest affection a mother can give. As far as Molly is concerned, Harry Potter is as good as her own and she’s content to treat him like family.

She remembers last summer when Ron and the twins disappeared in the middle of the night along with that bloody flying contraption of Arthur’s. When the clock shrieked in the middle of the night, telling her that three of her children were lost, she’d gone spare. Without Arthur around to panic at, she’d taken it out on the dishes which had never seen a cleaner day. And when they’d turned up with the thin boy from King’s Cross last year, claiming he’d been starved, she’d rolled her eyes, cloaking her relief with anger.

Those boys would think they’d been starved if they’d been sent to bed without supper.

Although, truth be told, Harry is small for his age and perhaps skinnier than she would like. So she feeds him up and he’s endlessly grateful and Molly thinks fervently that it would be nice if _her_ sons had such nice manners. There’s no hope for Fred and George but Percy seems to be turning out all right. If only she could get him to loosen up.

“Thanks again for having me, Mrs Weasley,” Harry had murmured sleepily as she was making her final rounds before bed. (She likes to know they’re all still breathing.)

“It’s my pleasure, dear,” she told him with a smile as she tucked the blankets around him. He sighed contentedly.

Sweet boy, she remembers thinking. Very sweet boy.

Her heart aches to think of his parents. He behaves like he’s never felt a mother’s love before and it occurs to her only now that he genuinely hasn’t. Molly doesn’t know much about muggles – only that Arthur adores them – but she understands family well enough to know that an Aunt can never be quite like a mother.

Molly catches herself watching him sometimes, wondering how different things might have been had Lily and James been here. They were such good people; they didn’t deserve their end. And they loved their son so much, enough to die for him.

Sometimes, Molly thinks he looks sad when he thinks nobody is watching. But then he’ll catch her eye and that smile will light up the room and Molly will push those thoughts to the back of his mind. Of course he’s sad. What with people constantly telling him how much he looks like James, how he has Lily’s eyes, he must miss them terribly. She can’t imagine how it must feel to grow up with no real memory of your parents only to be reminded of them every minute by another stranger asking for your autograph.

Everybody praises the Boy Who Lived. They never consider the Parents Who Died.


	2. Ron and Hermione

Harry doesn't like to talk about his nightmares so Ron doesn't push. Ron's like that, really. He spends so much time trying to stop his brothers from prying into his personal life that he doesn't know exactly where the line in drawn so he opts not to overstep it by never approaching it at all. Besides, he doesn't like it when Fred and George come sticking their noses in where they're not wanted and Harry clearly doesn't want to talk about his nightmares. He tenses when Ron mentions it and he seems uncomfortable with Ron's feeble attempts to comfort him in the middle of the night.

In the end, Ron decides to leave well enough alone. After all, they're Harry's nightmares and his friend is hardly what you'd call strupid. If they were becoming a problem, Ron was sure Harry would bring it up of his own accord. He and Hermione had been prepared to face mortal danger with him every time an opportunity had presented itself so Ron could think of no reason why Harry would be against talking to them.

What does it for Ron ultimately is the knowledge that Harry has plenty to have nightmares about. Ron already knows that he remembers - albeit vaguely - the night his parents were murdered and those freaky Dementors floating around the place certainly don't do him any good. He recalls the incident on the train with a shudder. Aside from that, though, he did fight off You-Know-Who again on his own in their first year and take on a Bassilisk single-handed at age twelve.

If nothing else, Ron can relax in the knowledge that Harry can take care of himself.

Hermione doesn't seem to agree.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, Ronald!" She says in the common room one evening, voice dripping with utter exasperation. "You don't use your eyes."

Ron is completely lost. Hermione rolls her eyes and continues with a surreptitious glance towards the stairwell. Harry had turned in early and, since it was Quidditch tomorrow, neither had argued with him.

"I've been monitoring his eating habits and..."

"His eating habits?" Ron explodes with the same tone. "Bloody hell, Hermoine. Give the man room to breathe."

Hermione shoots him a glare. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed it," she says with that trademark smirk of hers which never fails to infuriate.

"Noticed what?" He grits out because it's late and everyone else has gone to bed and he's really not in the mood for her stupid superiority complex.

She sighs in a very Hermione-esque way and begins to explain in a tone of voice which suggests she believes his level of understanding to be similar to that of a five-year-old.

"This is the second year he's come to school almost half the weight he was at the beginning of the summer," she reasons. "I've got no point of reference for before out first year but he was so thin on the train, Ron. You must have seen it."

"Yeah," Ron agrees carefully. He doesn't want to jump to any conclusions. Not that he can see any to hop aboard but he's wary nonetheless. He remembers the whole Snape-Quirrell incident from first year. However, in his opinion, Snape was still a big enough git to warrant that suspicion.

"It's like he works on a cycle," Hermione goes on. "His emotions work on the same cycle. He loves being here but he loathes going home for the summer."

Ron muttered something akin to "don't we all" but he was ignored.

Instead he says, "Okay, fine. But what does it _mean?_ "

Hermione bites her lip. "I don't know."

"You don't know," Ron repeats, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly. "Never thought I'd see the day _you_ were complaining about someone enjoying school. Have you considered that maybe he just enjoys being able to do magic. I mean, he didn't know he was a wizard until Hagrid came for him. He's just finding all this stuff out and then he has to go for months without it."

"That's another thing," Hermione says with the air of someone who's just been struck by a brilliant idea. "Why didn't he know as soon as his letter came? I can understand that maybe Dumbledore had safety concerns and that's why he sent Hagrid but not sending a letter just seems...strange."

Ron shrugs. "Well, Harry's a special case, isn't he?" He says and he doesn't mean it in a bad way. It's just the way it is. Harry is special. Maybe Ron thinks he's a bit of a git sometimes and, yeah, he admits to the occasional bout of jealousy but he knows deep down that Harry hates all the attention. He's not the stuck-up pig Snape seems to think he is. He's as brave as they come but he's hardly arrogant. Outspoken, yes. But not arrogant. Ron doesn't think Harry has it in him.

"It's the weight thing that really gets me," Hermione mutters, half to herself. "I suppose it could just be that his body gets used to the feasts we have here. Going from feasts to your average meal schedule must be a wrench. I mean, I don't tend to eat a lot but Harry's a boy so..."

"Hey!" Ron interjects. "What do you mean by that?"

Hermione looks irritable. "If you'd let me finish, you'd know that I was commenting on Harry's metabolism. Teenage boys are notorious for having burning through calories like they're irrelevant. It's quite natural."

Ron doesn't even have the good sense to look abashed at his assumption.

"That's got to be it, right?" Hermione all but whispers.

Ron swallows. He briefly debates telling her that Harry's nightmares are usually pretty bad during the first month or so because she's good at patterns and she could probably figure that out. But it's probably co-incidence. After all, nobody likes going home for the summer. Magic's great. Why wouldn't you want to use it all the time? And Hermione's probably right about Harry's metal balloons or whatever. She knows a lot more about that stuff than he does. So he bites back the vague flash of worry which catches in his throat and forces a small smile.

"Yeah," he says, trying to convince them both. "That must be it."


	3. Malfoy

Malfoy loathes Potter, despises him. Famous Harry Potter – famous for something he can’t even remember, something he had no real part in. An accident of circumstance and he’s all over the Daily Prophet for breathing; it’s pathetic. Best of all, Potter knows it. Malfoy loves to see him squirm in the limelight, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of public attention. He thinks wryly that it’s the closest Potter will ever come to understanding the stigma Slytherin students endure daily.

“All alone, Potter?” He asks sweetly through his sneer. “Where’s Weaselby? Busy having _fun_ with the mudblood?”

Crabbe and Goyle guffaw beside him. Malfoy grits his teeth.

Potter, on the other hand, raises his chin defiantly. This, Malfoy thinks, is going to be fun. “Shut up, Malfoy,” he snaps.

Malfoy is reminded of their first flying lesson and finds a bitter taste in his mouth. If there’s one thing he hates, it’s being overshadowed and Potter is the shadow in which this entire generation is living.

“Oh, not very friendly,” he smirks with a meaningful glance to Crabbe and Goyle. “I think it’s time we taught Potter some manners, don’t you, boys?”

Potter is fast but Malfoy is faster. No sooner has Potter drawn his wand than it goes flying through the air with a cry of, _“Expelliarmus!”_

Even without his wand, Potter doesn’t appear helpless. He’s slight and skinny but his eyes are blazing with anger and his shoulders are squared, ready to fight. But Malfoy doesn’t like to get his hands dirty. He casts _Levicorpus_ and delights in the indignation on Potter’s face when he’s lifted from the ground. The struggle is reflected on Potter’s face as he tries to throw off the simple charm. It’s funny, really, how he can defeat a Bassilisk at the age of twelve but a basic levitation charm renders him helpless. Malfoy can’t help but smirk.

“What’s the matter, Potter?” He crows. “Feeling a little down in the dumps?”

With these words, he cancels the charm and Potter lands on the floor in a tangle of limbs. He’s on his feet in an instant, eyeing Malfoy warily. Malfoy examines his nails. Potter’s wand lies forgotten by a crevice in the wall, hands clenched into fists by his side. It seems he’s resorted to his old muggle ways. All the better.

“Crabbe. Goyle,” Malfoy nods to each of them in turn and, with more speed than their sizes should allow, they dart forward and grab Potter’s arms. He struggles but this is where his weight fails him. He might be a half-decent wizard – though it pains Malfoy to admit it - but he’s dead meat in a fist fight.

“Geroff!” Potter yells, aiming several kicks at Goyle’s legs. Goyle merely growls.

They start dragging him backwards up the corridor and Malfoy follows, making sure to remain just slightly out of reach of Potter’s flailing limbs. He grins and flicks his wand nonchalantly, looking past Potter with glee. Oh, this _will_ be fun.

Potter seems to realise where he’s being taken and a quick glance over his shoulder confirms his suspicion. He starts struggling like his life depends on it, yelling and almost begging to be released. Malfoy grins. Finally, Potter exactly where he wants him. It’s about time to extract a little revenge.

Potter’s thrown inside and, with another flick of Malfoy’s wand, the door to Filch’s broom cupboard slams shut and locks. Crabbe and Goyle whoop with joy and Malfoy simply smirks. He considers casting a silencing charm and leaving Potter to it. He’ll survive the day in there if Malfoy has his way. But, then again, the fists pummelling the door and Potter’s screams to _let me out of here right now_ are far more entertaining.

But something isn’t right and Malfoy finds himself struggling to place exactly what it is.

The screaming isn’t exasperated, it isn’t angry. Malfoy realises with a strange sensation in his stomach that Potter is absolutely terrified. He can hear his desperate breathing like he’s been thrown straight into a full blown panic attack. Malfoy swallows. This isn’t what he wants. Potter’s cries become increasingly desperate while Draco stands there, staring and staring. Just staring. Who’d have thought it? Harry Potter - afraid of the dark.

Try as he might, Malfoy can’t bring that smirk to his face.

Things starts to clatter beyond the door and Crabbe and Goyle are still howling with laughter behind him but he can barely hear them. It’s just his breathing and Potter’s choked sobs to keep him company.

The sobbing is what does it in the end and he opens the door with another flick of his wand, much to his henchmen’s dismay. The sight of Potter huddled in the corner, brooms and mops casting shadows across his body, seems to appease them. Malfoy is surprised by how small Potter is able to make himself appear, how helpless he seems. It’s a look that requires practice but Malfoy is struggling to imagine any situation where Harry bloody Potter might have learned to make himself invisible.

Unsettled, Malfoy plasters a smirk onto his face again but his heart isn’t in it. He summons Potter’s wand and tosses it at his feet with mock disgust.

“Weakness is ill-suited to Gryffindor colours,” he spits.

Torturing Potter is no fun if he doesn't fight back. This isn't the kind of Potter he's used to seeing. Stripped of his insolence and quick tongue, it's like messing with a pushover Hufflepuff. For a brief moment, he smirks at the idea of Potter being compared to a Hufflepuff but then Potter makes a noise somewhere between a hiccup and a cough as he uncurls and Malfoy feels that strangeness in his stomach return.

Malfoy turns sharply on his heel and stalks away, Crabbe and Goyle trailing along behind.

"Wait 'till everyone hears about this!" Goyle whoops, clapping Malfoy on the back. Malfoy tenses at the touch, shrugging it off woodenly.

This is ridiculous. Potter deserved it. After all, it's just a phobia. People have phobias all the time. That Weasley boy, the youngest one, everyone knew he was terrified of spiders. And they never had been given the chance to see Potter's boggart during that pitiful first defence lesson. That Lupin had jumped in before Potter had gotten the chance. Typical, really - people were practically tripping over themselves to protect their precious Boy Who Lived.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Malfoy knows that this has crossed some sort of invisible line. It's gone beyond rivalry. Exploiting this discovery would be nothing short of bullying and, though his dislike of Potter is obvious, Professor Snape had made it abundantly clear in their first year that any Slytherin caught in the act of bullying another student - regardless of house or circumstance - would find themselves in detention for the rest of their school career.

Although the idea of a Gryffindor with a phobia, particularly one as childish as- well, Malfoy isn't sure if Potter is afraid of the dark or merely suffering from claustrophobia but, either way, it's a pathetic thing to fear. With the Dark Lord out there, Malfoy had imagined Potter would at least be able to rationalise. Surely he's not so completely dense that he fears being locked in a broom cupboard more than the Dark Lord himself.

Crabbe and Goyle are involved in an animated discussion about the best way to spread this round the whole school by the time the day is out but Malfoy speaks before he can stop himself and it's the last thing anybody expects to hear, including Malfoy himself.

"We do not speak of this to anyone!" He says with more force than intended.

Crabbe's mouth hangs open. "But- but it's _Potter!"_ He says in a tone which suggests he thinks Malfoy has completely lost all sense of self.

"I'm well aware of that," Malfoy snaps back. "And I'm also aware that you two dunderheads have already come up with a plan to send word of Potter's little episode to the rest of the school. Rest assured, if this gets out, I’ll make you regret it for the rest of your miserable lives."

Before either of them can protest, Malfoy sweeps down the corridor, leaving them standing in shock in his wake.

Malfoy can't tell them why he doesn't want this spread around because he's honestly not certain himself. Sure, they'd be in awful trouble with Professor Snape if he were ever to find out but it's more than that. Malfoy can't shake the feeling that they witnessed something intensely private and he can't help but wonder how he'd feel if Potter found out about the training sessions with his father. If Potter were to spread that Malfoy _still_ went to pieces under the Cruciatus, he'd be utterly mortified, not to mention furious and frightened and a whole range of negative emotions he can't even name.

The tears on Potter's pathetic face would have been funny in any other possible situation but not this one and the thought of sharing what he witnessed with anyone else makes his stomach twist painfully.

So he never does. And the next time their paths cross, he notices the way Potter's hand immediately flies to his pocket for his wand and the white lines of barely disguised terror on his face makes him slightly ashamed. Only slightly, you understand.

Barely at all.


	4. Poppy

Honestly, Poppy thinks, Harry Potter spends more time in the hospital wing than the rest of his year put together. He’s forever getting into impossible scrapes and ending up without the bones in his arm or the remnants of basilisk venom coursing through his veins. How the boy is still alive is a mystery to her – after all, she’s considered strangling him several times for his complete disregard for his well-being.

It’s difficult to be angry for long, though. The child has a certain charm about him, a childlike enthusiasm for adventure which makes her heart glow. True, he reminds her somewhat of his father but she can’t help but think that his relationship to his mother is abundantly clear. His eyes, yes, they resemble Lily Evans’s, so violently green, but it’s more than a physical resemblance. He has her humour and quick wit, her empathy and her infectious laugh. When Harry Potter smiles, Poppy feels her heart swell. The poor boy has been through a lot since he arrived here; it’s only fitting that he should find _some_ happiness. Somewhere.

When she’s mending him following his latest scrape – falling over 100 feet on his broomstick, no less – she notices, as she has before, a number of strange marks littering his arms and back. She tuts.

“Mr Potter,” she says disapprovingly. “Whatever have you been doing to come across so many injuries?”

Harry grins. “Oh, you know, the usual, Madam Pomfrey,” he says.

She smiles behind his back but her voice remains crisp. “How many trolls was it this time, Mr Potter?”

“None, shockingly,” he says, voice full of laughter. “I was wrestling a hippogriff.”

At this, Poppy can’t stifle a small snort of laughter. “Indeed.”

It’s always like this. She’ll ask and he’ll lie and she’ll enjoy his fanciful stories so much that she’ll forget to ask him properly. After all, he’ll still get himself into trouble anyway. That’s one thing he certainly got from his father. James always did have a talent for trouble. She remembers mending many a broken bone and bruised rib when that boy took it upon himself to get into mischief.

Clearly, nature outweighs nurture at least some of the time.

Poppy remembers the first time she’d ever questioned the child about his injuries. Following the events of the stone in Harry’s first year, she’d kept him under close observation. Some of the marks she’d come across during her examination were far too old to have resulted from that particular altercation. And so, she had asked him and he had lied with a glimpse of Lily’s familiar mischief dancing in his eyes. He’d told her a story about rampaging trolls and how he’d narrowly escaped death after being rescued by a small (but incredibly brave) snail. And Poppy had laughed. That boy had quite the imagination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! I'll try really hard not to wait so long to update this again!


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